38.
ARTIE
Here I sit and grin
Money will roll right in
-Crack Up,"Money Will Roll Right In"
These characters don't belong to me. They are their own people.
"God, would you look at these people? They look like they're living inside a
Charles Dickens novel-"
Voldemort was tired of sharing Artie Ziff's body. The only reason he didn't
tell Artie this was because Artie would not shut up. He kept reminding Voldemort
that he was a Very Important Person and that he was rich. Not just rich, but
filthily so.
They were passing the Springfield Museum Of Art when Voldemort saw an
opportunity to shut Artie up.
"Wait a moment," Voldemort said. "I want to go in there," he said.
"We don't have time," Artie said. "I have plenty of art at home."
"Mr. Ziff-"
"Call me Artie, my Lord."
"Artie...this isn't working."
"It's working perfectly for me," Artie said. "Besides, I was hoping we could
strike a deal."
"I don't make deals."
"It's simple. I help you-"
Voldemort sighed. "And what do you want in return, Artie? Gold? Jewels? More
money, I suppose? That's what rich fools like you crave. I already have one
wealthy microcephalic in my employ. I don't need another one."
"I don't want gold or jewels. Money, yeah, but what I really want-"
"WHAT IS IT, ZIFF?"
"Marge Simpson."
"Marge Simpson? That woman with the...the hair-"
"All I've ever wanted is Marge Simpson. I almost had her, a little while ago.
But it just didn't happen-"
"Fine," Voldemort said. "Deliver Ralph Wiggum to me,and you shall have
Marge Simpson."
He stepped out of Artie's body.
"See you later," said Voldemort.
Artie practically skipped away.
Voldemort stood there, not sure what to do; he needed another host. Everyone
in this town was so abnormal, he couldn't bear being in them for long. I know
one of them was marked as a Death Eater, but where was he?
"All right," he said. "The FIRST person I SEE-"
-happened along not thirty seconds later, an unkempt woman wearing too much
makeup, her ratty brown hair twisted and snarled, especially on top. She wore a
pair of old blue jeans, a tattered green pullover and a shirt that exposed a copious
amount of cleavage. On her feet: what he believed were called flip-flops.
He jumped into her,and then-
"Bran-DEEN-"
A battered pickup truck pulled up next to them.
"Ya promised me ya'd take me ta the trash art showin', Cletus."
"We still got time fer that, hon. Right now, we gots to get
Ma offa the roof agin..."
What have I done? Voldemort thought,as Brandine leapt into the truck,
just in time for Cletus to floor the accelerator.
ARTIE
Here I sit and grin
Money will roll right in
-Crack Up,"Money Will Roll Right In"
These characters don't belong to me. They are their own people.
"God, would you look at these people? They look like they're living inside a
Charles Dickens novel-"
Voldemort was tired of sharing Artie Ziff's body. The only reason he didn't
tell Artie this was because Artie would not shut up. He kept reminding Voldemort
that he was a Very Important Person and that he was rich. Not just rich, but
filthily so.
They were passing the Springfield Museum Of Art when Voldemort saw an
opportunity to shut Artie up.
"Wait a moment," Voldemort said. "I want to go in there," he said.
"We don't have time," Artie said. "I have plenty of art at home."
"Mr. Ziff-"
"Call me Artie, my Lord."
"Artie...this isn't working."
"It's working perfectly for me," Artie said. "Besides, I was hoping we could
strike a deal."
"I don't make deals."
"It's simple. I help you-"
Voldemort sighed. "And what do you want in return, Artie? Gold? Jewels? More
money, I suppose? That's what rich fools like you crave. I already have one
wealthy microcephalic in my employ. I don't need another one."
"I don't want gold or jewels. Money, yeah, but what I really want-"
"WHAT IS IT, ZIFF?"
"Marge Simpson."
"Marge Simpson? That woman with the...the hair-"
"All I've ever wanted is Marge Simpson. I almost had her, a little while ago.
But it just didn't happen-"
"Fine," Voldemort said. "Deliver Ralph Wiggum to me,and you shall have
Marge Simpson."
He stepped out of Artie's body.
"See you later," said Voldemort.
Artie practically skipped away.
Voldemort stood there, not sure what to do; he needed another host. Everyone
in this town was so abnormal, he couldn't bear being in them for long. I know
one of them was marked as a Death Eater, but where was he?
"All right," he said. "The FIRST person I SEE-"
-happened along not thirty seconds later, an unkempt woman wearing too much
makeup, her ratty brown hair twisted and snarled, especially on top. She wore a
pair of old blue jeans, a tattered green pullover and a shirt that exposed a copious
amount of cleavage. On her feet: what he believed were called flip-flops.
He jumped into her,and then-
"Bran-DEEN-"
A battered pickup truck pulled up next to them.
"Ya promised me ya'd take me ta the trash art showin', Cletus."
"We still got time fer that, hon. Right now, we gots to get
Ma offa the roof agin..."
What have I done? Voldemort thought,as Brandine leapt into the truck,
just in time for Cletus to floor the accelerator.
